Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Bosnia Herzegovina and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Accadde A to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Moebius. All the underground hits.
All Altered Images tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Grass Roots record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Average White Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Foxx,
Josef K,
The Skatalites,
Shoche,
Tropical Tobacco,
Nirvana,
Marmalade,
Thompson Twins,
China Crisis,
Lalann,
Man Eating Sloth,
Deakin,
Popol Vuh,
Unwound,
Hoover,
Janne Schatter,
K-Klass,
Pylon,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Black Dice,
Jeff Lynne,
Lungfish,
Youth Brigade,
48th St. Collective,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Maurizio,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Michelle Simonal,
Visage,
Cymande,
James White and The Blacks,
Mars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Traffic Nightmare,
Agent Orange,
Cluster,
Khruangbin,
Archie Shepp,
Tres Demented,
Deadbeat,
Tubeway Army,
Nick Fraelich,
Crooked Eye,
Loose Ends,
Model 500,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Eve St. Jones,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Technova,
Whodini,
Idris Muhammad,
The Fall,
Guru Guru,
Subhumans,
Neu!,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Blancmange,
Robert Görl,
Icehouse,
The Real Kids,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.